


It Shouldn't Have Happened Like This

by unitlost



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Aftermath of that one comic, Angst and Humor, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining, Not Innocent!Italy, Shenanigans follow, Spain and Romano don't know what's going on anymore, but also fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-26
Updated: 2019-02-28
Packaged: 2019-07-18 00:17:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16106753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unitlost/pseuds/unitlost
Summary: After proposing to Romano, Spain is devastated when he is rejected.  He decides that the best thing to do is pretend the whole thing never happened, in hopes of protecting their friendship.The only problem is, Romano never actually said no.  He's been ready for their wedding for a while now.(Based on that one strip where Spain announces that same-sex marriage is now legal in Spain)





	1. Prologue

July, 2005.

It was the total, absolute worst outcome he could have imagined.

Sure, he didn’t expect snickerdoodles and bouquets of daisies.  He was prepared for hot coals, broken glass, flushed faces and stuttered protests.  Rejection. He had been prepared for rejection.

He hadn’t expected Romano to not care.

Spain dug his fingers into the ground below his palms, ripping poor, unsuspecting grass out by its roots.  Somewhere in the back of his mind, he apologized to the plants. Poor, unsuspecting grass.

“Minimum three free meals and a nap with pasta,” he had said.  He didn’t even look up from his snack. That hadn’t sat right with him at all.  Spain  _ knew _ Romano, and he had a love for theatrics, flashy suits, sugar-coated words.  When Romano cared, the atmosphere was literally Gucci. Their exchange, in Spain’s opinion, was anything but.

An annoying bird chirped from its nest, the same way it always did.  A small rustle occurred in the tall grass behind him, the same way it always did.  Spain rested as he always did, his arms loosely on his knees, not caring how dirty his pants got.  Everything in the clearing was so timeless, so habitual, that it could have been the same day he first stumbled upon it.

 

May, 1544.

_ Romano wasn’t home when Spain got back.  He couldn’t say he was surprised, but he could certainly say he was worried.  Upon not receiving a complimentary headbutt and string of complaints upon arrival, he immediately put his waistcoat back on and set out in search of him. _

_ There were only a few places that Romano would reasonably have gone.  He could have gone up north to Perpignan, where Spain had been, but then they would have probably run into each other.  Romano didn’t have any friends that he trusted outside of Spain’s territories, as far as he knew. That left somewhere in Italy.  With luck, Romano hadn’t made it far. _

_ He traveled through the woods, slightly off the beaten path, knowing that Romano was foolish enough to run blindly in any direction if it would lead to his underused house.  Foolish, stressful, adorable little Romano. He was probably getting lonely at this point, wasn’t he? The shade of alder trees and the softly packed ground was comforting, yes, but that comfort could only go so far.  The Spaniard thought about stopping to get a snack for the child, but ultimately decided it would be better to reach him as quickly as possible. _

_ He debated what to say when he found the young Italian.  Should he be stern?  _ “Romano, I forbid you from running off without telling anybody!”   _ Compassionate? _  “It’s alright, Romano, Boss is here now.  Thank you for being so brave while I was away.”   _ Really, neither option would get through to Romano; Spain knew that much by now.  He might have to be severe, but he hated the face Romano made whenever he tried. _

_ A small whimper caught his ear once he neared the Neapolitan coast, followed by soft splashing.  That was Romano’s voice, wasn’t it? Spain followed the sounds, pushing through the thick bushes, not caring if there was an easier way to get to his henchman. _

_ After what seemed like an eternity, the foliage finally gave way to a wide clearing.  Grass that looked softer than anything in his front yard sat in thick plumes over cool soil.  A lake, small enough that he could see the edges but wide enough to seem vast and endless regardless, made its home in the middle.  The lake itself was baked in sunlight, looking brighter and more inviting than even the sunniest Spanish beaches. The rest of the clearing was spotted with shade from the overhanging trees, creating patterns of shadow more beautiful than any painting could dream of being. _

_ South Italy truly was a beautiful place. _

_ And in the middle of all that beauty was South Italy himself, waist deep in the water and lightly swinging his arms around.  His clothes were discarded in a pile on the shore, sopping wet yet still obviously soiled. And when Spain saw Romano’s face, lacking its trademark scowl and instead looking frustrated and dejected, any thought of being stern or severe with the boy flew out the window. _

_ “Romano?!  What’s wrong?  Why are you crying?” _

 

To be honest, he didn’t even realize that he had asked Romano to marry him then and there until he heard the other’s response.  He had only meant to share the good news; actually, he and Romano weren’t even together. Spain’s feelings for the other were strong, and they had only been growing stronger in recent years.  He didn’t think it was far off to say he had fallen in love with that soft frown, those worry lines between fierce hazel eyes. But he had never expressed this to Romano, and Romano had never done anything that would suggest that he felt the same way.  So why had he impulsively thrown such a heavy question at the Italian?

No, he knew why; he had gotten caught up in the moment.  Austria had dismissively asked if Spain had any intention of marrying now that men could legally be happy together, and suddenly he was on an altar.  Romano wasn’t sitting on the couch and lazily eating a slice of pizza, he was standing on the other end of the church. He wasn’t looking away with disregard, he was hiding his face with embarrassed joy.  It was simply too beautiful of a scene to be real, but for that one moment, it was. And he leapt at the moment, and perhaps that had been a mistake. Maybe if he had used theatrics of his own? Gotten down on one knee in a candle-lit pavilion?  Maybe Romano was horribly underwhelmed. Maybe Spain hadn’t met Romano’s expectations. It certainly wasn’t a memorable proposal.

Or maybe if he had done things right, and had taken Romano out for dinner first.  Asked him out. Told him he loved him.

Well, it was too late now.  It was probably better to drop the whole idea.

 

_ “Romano, please, stop avoiding me.  Won’t you tell me what happened?” _

_ Romano huffed, still refusing to look at Spain.  “You’re just being a stupid jerk again.” _

_ “What?  Romano, I may be spacey at times, but you’ve never run away just because you were mad before!”   _ No, Spain, don’t raise your voice; it’ll only make things worse.   _ He sighed and rested a hand on Romano’s bony shoulder.  Romano didn’t flinch. “I was worried about you, that’s all.” _

_ “You were worried, but did you  _ do _ anything about that?!” _

_ “Romano, I was up north-” _

_ “Leaving  _ me _ to take care of everything here!” _

_ “I didn’t ask you to do anything, though!” _

_ Tiny hands balled up in the grass, ripping it up.  “Time doesn’t stop just because you’re gone, you know.” _

_ Spain blinked.  So something really did happen while he was gone.  And it sounded like it was out of Romano’s control.  Taking a closer look, he saw that his henchman’s face was lightly scratched, most likely from falling down.  His palms, what he could see of them, were scratched as well. That was a red flag in Spain’s mind; Romano usually didn’t have the reaction time to put his hands in front of him.  Was he expecting to fall? Then why was he so upset? _

_ The grass continued to suffer under Romano’s hands.  Spain let out another sigh. Romano glared at everything in sight, save for Spain, who he still wouldn’t spare a glance towards.  Running out of room in his hands, he threw the bunches of grass forward and immediately started to gather more. The discarded greenery rested on the surface of the lake, a visual indication of Romano’s frustration. _

_ As he watched the blades spin in the stilling water, Spain got an idea. _

_ “Romano,” he started, keeping his eyes on the lake.  “Throw the grass into the water again.” _

_ A moment of silence passed.  Spain could feel Romano’s confused stare boring into the side of his head, but he still didn’t turn.  This was something he wanted Romano to have some privacy in. _

_ Eventually, the hesitant inquiry came.  “What?” _

_ “Pretend the grass is everything that’s upsetting you.  Throw it away.” _

_ Romano still didn’t seem to fully understand, but Spain saw him comply out of the corner of his eye. _

_ “Thank you, Romano.  Now, look at the lake,” he instructed.  “What do you see?” _

_ “A bunch of stupid grass.  Spain, what’s the point of all this?” _

_ “Is it sinking?” _

_ Romano appeared taken aback.  “Well, uh, no? Of course not, it’s grass.  Did you get stupid by going to Perpig-whatever?” _

_ Spain chose to ignore that comment.  “Right? The grass is there on the surface, but it can’t actually bother the lake.” _

_ Romano looked back at the water, staring out for a moment in what Spain had come to learn was pensive silence.  “It can’t actually bother the lake,” he finally echoed. Romano picked up a couple more handfuls and let them join the others on the lake, throwing them with all the strength his little arms could muster, and muttering a curse on the world with each bunch.  Spain thought he heard “idiota Spagna” in there. He chuckled. Romano actually laughed back. _

_ “Romano.”  After giving him a few moments, Spain finally turned to the child and took those small hands into his own.  “I don’t doubt that whatever happened was important. And I’m never going to tell you to not get upset. But just like this lake, I want you to remember that you are strong enough to overcome any blade of grass that finds its way into your hands.” _

 

A sunkissed hand tossed the foliage it had gathered into the lake that stretched out in front of him.  They remained stationary, speckling the otherwise crystal-clear reflection of the Spaniard and his incredibly uncharacteristic expression.  He didn’t particularly care. The grass wasn’t that important to him. Neither was seeing himself like this. Romano would have gotten angry if he had seen Spain like this.

The reflection shifted before his eyes, said eyes screwing up and mouth grimacing.  More grass met their companions over the image, and more, and he couldn’t see it clearly anyway, didn’t want to see it, more, more.  Violently now, sending droplets of freshwater out from the body so that he could no longer tell what was lake and what was tears.

 

_ Romano never did tell Spain what happened that day, but he took Spain’s words to heart, if the thinning patches of grass on the lakeshore were anything to go by.  The lake always seemed pristine when he visited, the grass washed away by the rain, most likely. _

_ On bad days, on stressful days, and just on days when Romano’s location was unknown, Spain would find his little underling at a lakeside in a clearing on the outskirts of Naples. _

_ They would sit, usually in silence, as Romano took his anger out on the land.  At times like those, Romano never explained himself, and Spain never asked. _

_ As time went on, however, Romano journeyed to the glade less and less.  Perhaps Spain’s presence made it lose its meaning, it’s solitude. Maybe it was a result of Romano’s growing desire for independence.  Whatever the reason, as Romano gradually abandoned it as the place he went to when upset, Spain gradually adopted it as his own. _

 

Trembling hands stilled as a particularly large drop hit him directly on the forehead.  He swiped the grass away and stared dully at the image before him. He looked old, tired, hopelessly in love and hopelessly crushed.

It was best for both of them, he reasoned, if he pretended this had never happened.  If Romano brought something up, he would not run from that awkward conversation. Until that moment came, however, he would smile brightly for Romano, as a boss and as a best friend.  It would be foolish to allow this rejection to taint the relationship that they did have. He wouldn’t let himself taint his friendship with Romano. Romano would never have to see him like this.

And yet, he wanted nothing more than for Romano to find him, the way Spain had found the little henchman so many centuries ago.  It was for that reason that he always came here when he was down, holding onto a small hope that the Italian would make an appearance.

Romano never came.

Spain let out a sharp laugh.  He wasn’t that important to Romano.

Poor, unsuspecting grass.

* * *

 

Romano sat up and muttered, “Was that too demanding?”

Spain had left so quickly and suddenly, Romano didn’t know what to think.  The cheerful man was, in Romano’s opinion, an open book, a terrible liar whose face always gave away his true thoughts.  So when he walked away without so much as a word, the Italian found himself truly at a loss.

His younger brother cleared his throat, normally closed eyes wide and cheeks bright pink.  “I don’t think so. I mean, well, the least he can do is feed you, no? And big brother Spain takes siestas just like we do!”

The two shared a knowing look, one that said that a session of gossip was imminent.  They glanced at Austria, who seemed to favor ignoring them rather than trying to decipher their rapid Italian, and pressed together on the couch.  Romano scowled at his brother’s face; he looked as if  _ he _ had been the one proposed to.

“But,” Veneziano hummed, “that was weird, even for Spain.  Oh! But, ah, um, congratulations! I’m so glad you get to live happily ever after together!  Ah, you  _ are _ happy, right?”

“What kind of guy do you take me for?” Romano snapped.  “Of… of course I’m happy.” He knew he was terrible at expressing himself properly; voicing how his heart had stopped for a moment upon hearing the news from Spain.  How it immediately resumed doubletime when he had prompted Romano. How he didn’t know what to say so he unconsciously skipped the tearful moments and jumped straight to the practical ones.  But his inability to express those sentiments didn’t make them any less there. His eyebrows twitched slightly, as did the corner of his mouth, and Veneziano’s face told him that he understood.

“I bet he got so excited for your wedding that he ran off to start planning it the moment you said yes!”  A thoughtful pause. “But wait a minute, Romano, I didn’t know you two were together! Why didn’t you tell me?”

Oh.  “We aren’t,” Romano admitted.

“What?  I mean, you’re obviously into him-OW!”  Veneziano rubbed his newly pinched arm. “I’m sorry!  You are, though! But it’s a pretty big step in your relationship to just assume, isn’t it?”

Dammit, how embarrassing.  Was that anticlimactic proposal also their confession of love?  Spain was an idiot, but Romano doubted he would do something as risky as proposing to someone he wasn’t dating without some  _ seriously _ good evidence.

Well, just like how Spain was an open book to Romano, Romano must have been easy for Spain to read as well.  The jerk always did know when he was upset. And, if he were being honest, Romano wasn’t really trying to hide his feelings all that much.  He hadn’t brought it up for fear of rejection, waiting for Spain to make the first move. Fucking asshole probably knew the whole time and just didn’t say anything.  Romano was going to marry him and then promptly kill him.

“He probably just knew or something,” was the answer he finally conceded.

It must have been a good enough answer, because the babble resumed immediately.  “Big brother Spain seems like the type of person to get over excited and do everything on his own, so you have to make sure you get your say in!” Veneziano punched the air for emphasis.  “Oh! And you have to let me be a witness. I bet big brother Spain is going to want big brother France or Prussia to do it, but you _ have _ to let me be one of them!”

“The dumbass is probably going to ask me to be a witness to my own wedding, so yeah, we should be able to work that out.”

Veneziano squealed, throwing his arms around his reluctant brother.  “Thank you thank you! I’m so happy for you, Romano. I’m really, really happy for you.  I can see it now, the cake, the church, your face when I bring Germany as my plus one to circumvent the fact that you didn’t invite him…”  

Romano cursed under his breath.

“So, when’s the wedding?”

Romano frowned.  That’s right. The wedding.  A wedding. That’s what they were talking about.  Were they even having a wedding?

“Austria,” he heard himself saying before he could stop the words.

The man in question briefly appeared startled from being addressed, even more so from being addressed by the older Italian.  Adjusting his glasses to save some face, he turned his body and attention to the pair.

“Did you have a wedding ceremony?  When you and Spain, well, you know.”  It was weird to be asking his fiance’s ex about this kind of thing so quickly, but Romano was not used to this side of politics at all.

“When we married briefly?” Austria clarified.  Upon receiving no answer apart from two intent stares, he continued.  “No, I don’t remember an extravagant ceremony. Of our own, at least. I believe we tagged onto Philip and Joanna’s ceremony in Lier.”

“And Portugal?”

“Why would I be familiar with that?”  Stubborn silence. Austria sighed. “Their union was a disaster, put in place by Spain’s greed and ending after Portugal’s empire suffered and he had had enough.  Romantic ceremony or not, I would call their relationship anything but. I wouldn’t worry about beating  _ that _ .”

Italy coughed.  Romano stayed silent.  Austria also coughed. “Not that their ceremony was romantic.  The whole matter was very controversial, even for that time.” He seemed uncomfortable now.  They all did. Romano frowned.

“There isn’t anything to make suffer,” his northern half gently reminded him.

Romano wanted to be worried about that, but he couldn’t find it in him to do so.  It was too difficult to imagine Spain in any way except cheerful and annoying. Power-hungry Spain?  He must have lived with that sort of man for a while. He wondered which Spain had won his heart first.  “Please,” he scoffed, “like his seven islands are any better.”

If he were feeling bold, Romano would have said that he heard Austria snort at the jab.  Regardless, Romano seemed to have luckily broken the awkward spell, and Austria managed to clarify his previous statements.  “Spain was a different man back then. He was high off of power and discovery. He would have done anything to strengthen his influence, his wealth and territory.  I would know; I was the same way.” Veneziano nodded in confirmation.

“These days Spain doesn’t care about those things the way he used to.  If you gave him good friends, good food, and nothing else, I wouldn’t be surprised if he was satisfied with just that.”

“And a good husband,” teased Veneziano, nudging his brother.  

Said brother smacked his elbow away.  “I will castrate you.”

“Please don’t.”

As he used one hand to keep the redhead’s cheek away from his own, Romano’s thoughts lingered on the situation.  Spain had received news that gay marriage was now legal in Spain, and he had immediately dropped by to propose to Romano.  That was… really touching.  _ Really _ fucking touching.  If Romano wasn’t already head over heels for the bubbly Spaniard, he sure as hell was now.

As for when the wedding was,  _ if  _ the wedding was, he thought he’d show his generous side for once and let Spain decide upon that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I hope you enjoyed the prologue to my first ever full-fledged fanfiction!
> 
> Some historical notes mentioned
> 
> -Same-sex marriage was legalized in Spain on July 3, 2005. This fanfic assumes that the source comic takes place very shortly after that.
> 
> -1544 was in the midst of an Italian War (1542-46). This Italian War was an inconclusive one fought between [Spain, England, and the Holy Roman Empire] vs [France and the Ottoman Empire]. At the beginning of the war, the Spanish city of Perpignan successfully resisted French invasion. Spain then made negotiations with England to stage a joint invasion of France. By May 1544, they were ready to invade. Spain was returning home shortly to update Romano before the invasions. (Perpignan [Perpinyà in Catalan] is in France now, but at the time of the war it was Spanish territory).
> 
> -Spain and Austria were married from 1496-1521, starting with the creation of the Spanish Habsburgs and ending with the division of the empire. Philip I the Handsome of Austria married Joanna of Castile, daughter of Ferdinand and Isabella, in Lier, a municipality in present-day Belgium. Their son, Charles V, would rule over the combined empires. By the way, it was during their split that Spain gained proper custody of South Italy.
> 
> -The Iberian Union (1580-1640) was a dynastic union between Spain and Portugal. It came to be after the Portuguese Crisis of Succession, when the Spanish King Philip II wooed the aristocracy with his rich and powerful empire. While it was established that Spain and Portugal were still two distinct nations, the union abolished Portugal's separate foreign policy, and they were thrown into conflicts with Spain's traditional enemies, England and the Netherlands. Portugal ended up losing money and land, and ended up in a state of dependency on its colonies in India and Brazil. The union ended with the Portuguese Restoration War, in which Portugal regained sovereignty. When Italy says "there isn't anything to make suffer," he is referring to how Spain made Portugal's overseas empire suffer. Italy lost its last overseas territory (Italian Somaliland) in 1960. (This note is under revision!)
> 
> -The seven islands Romano refers to is the Canary Islands, which is technically an autonomous community of Spain and not a colony. This means that it is a direct part of Spain. Similar examples are French Guiana and the Azores. The point of this is that, just like Italy, Spain no longer has any colonies.
> 
> -In 1492, four years prior to Spain and Austria's union, Spanish expeditions to the Americas began. Additionally, this was the year of the fall of Granada, finishing the Spanish Reconquista. This led Spain to being "high off of power and discovery."
> 
> And "idiota Spagna" means "stupid jerk Spain" in Italian :)


	2. Chapter 2

January, 2006.

He didn’t find himself there very often, but Romano loved Assisi.  Few feelings were greater, in his opinion, than that of standing on a tower of Rocca Maggiore and enjoying the view of hills, churches, stone houses.  He didn’t exactly like climbing those hills--Romano much preferred his flatter terrain--but something about Assisi really made him feel like he was in the middle of his country.  He didn’t try to keep it from his brother, either; try as they both might, it was near impossible to hide something from the other. If Veneziano couldn’t hide his fondness for Basilicata, Romano saw no problem with setting aside his Southern pride every now and again.

This time, the brothers were there to discuss agriturismo.  To Romano that was a bonus, because it was one of the few topics where he truly shined next to the other; agriculture was his forte, and his more business-oriented brother took his words and opinion to heart with little complaint.  They had also decided to meet alone, and everything went better when they were only in the company of each other. All in all, it was a great setting for a meeting.

At the moment, they were on their lunch break.

Veneziano set down his wine glass, in the middle of a story about his latest visit to Frankfurt.  “But Germany said he was tired, so it ended up being just Belgium and me. I think Liechtenstein might have wanted to come too, but she looked afraid to ask.  Ahh, she’s so cute, isn’t she? When I see her I just want to pinch her cheeks!”

“Yeah, sounds fun,” muttered Romano.  He stabbed at a ravioli. “Hey, why don’t you ever invite _me_ out clubbing?”

“Oh!”  His brother sounded genuinely surprised, how annoying.  “I’m sorry; I didn’t realize you were into that sort of thing!”  Yeah, right. “Ok then, you and big brother Spain should join us in Turin this weekend!  I was going to invite Turkey too, but I can hold out if you’d rather I not.”

Romano looked up from his plate.  “Why are we bringing Spain into this?”

“I thought it made sense, since you’re engaged and all,” said Veneziano around the ragù in his mouth.

“We aren’t a fucking package deal!”

“So I shouldn’t invite him?”

“I didn’t say that.”

Fucking Veneziano and his fucking knowing look.  How could his eyes have a mischievous glint and also be closed?!  “Well, why don’t you invite him if you decide you want him there? I’m, uh, how do they say in English?   _‘I’m wiping my hands of the matter!’_  Yeah.”

“ _Washing_ ,” the brunet corrected.  “But yeah, that works. Can we talk about something else?  Something that doesn’t involve Spain?”

The corners of Veneziano’s lips turned down the tiniest of degrees.  “You mean you still haven’t heard anything about it?”

“That’s the absolute fucking opposite of changing the subject!”  But it was true; Romano only snapped because it was true, and both he and Veneziano knew that.  After that fateful day, Spain hadn’t said anything about their wedding, or even their engagement.  It was bugging Romano, to say the least. He was incredibly anxious about it, and his ~~nerves~~ pride was the only thing keeping him from confronting Spain about it, to say the most.  “In a perfect world, you _don’t_ know exactly what I’m thinking before I even think it.”

“Does that go both ways?”

“The less I have to know about who you’re thinking of inviting over at night, the better.”

The younger pouted.  “Romano, that’s harsh!  You’re making me sound like big brother France.”

“Don’t play innocent with me,” Romano pointed at his brother with his fork.  “The only reason you aren’t sucking on that potato bastard’s face is because you have commitment issues and you’re afraid you’ll get attached.”

“ _Romano!!”_ Ah, hit the nail right on the head.  Veneziano almost dropped his own fork when he slammed one hand onto the table, looking startled and just embarrassed enough for Romano to bask in it.  “That… that’s… You’re the absolute _worst!_ ”

“Love you, too.”  Romano cleaned his face with his napkin to hide his shit-eating grin.  Well, to pretend to hide it, at least.

A contrasting frown now very visible on his face, Veneziano dug his phone out of his pocket and started to fiddle with it.

“What, the silent treatment already, you jerk?  Aren’t you the one always telling me to accept constructive criticism?”  His brother merely hummed in response.

Romano was about to say something, although he still wasn’t sure what, but the waiter came at that moment and set their next dishes down.  Veneziano glanced up from the device and swiped half of Romano’s grilled vegetables for himself before the latter could react. Romano sputtered indignantly at the theft, earning him a nonchalant, “You deserve this.”

“Nobody deserves to lose their food; this is tyranny!  I demand food equality. _Most Serene_ Republic my ass, demon spawn!”

Veneziano’s anger (angry facade?  It was a mixture of the two) dissolved into a fit of giggles at the accusations.  “Ok fine, do you want some of mine?”

“What do you have?”

“Baked potatoes.”

“Fuck, no thanks.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Veneziano apologized in a way that was not sorry at all.  “I guess you’ll just have to suffer, then.”

Defiantly, Romano finished his brother’s wine.  Veneziano grabbed the empty glass back and cradled it to his chest protectively.

“Aren’t you going to at least talk to him?  I mean, you’re engaged, you have a right to complain if you’re unhappy with the way things are.”

Well, it seemed there was no way to escape this discussion.  They had probably both blown off enough steam already, and if Veneziano wasn’t deterred yet, he probably would never be.  “That’s the problem; things aren’t really any way. I don’t know, it’s like, what can I even say?”

The auburn haired man looked up at the ceiling in thought.  “Well, anything at all would be a good start. Maybe he thinks you’re handling the details.”

Romano looked at his brother incredulously--when has he ever been the one to plan _anything_ he and Spain did together?--but then he remembered that this was Spain they were talking about.  Nothing about Spain’s thought process made sense. It was better to just take whatever he was thinking at face value, and if he thought that Romano was the designated wedding planner, then Romano supposed he was.

He certainly wasn’t saying this to cover for the fact that he hadn’t considered that possibility.  Not at all. Nor was he saying this to hide how excited he was at the prospect of planning his own wedding.  Absolutely not.

The light giddiness that he had forced to lay at the bottom of his stomach resurfaced.

Ever the fucking psychic, Veneziano put one hand on the other’s, and Romano contemplated taking a class on maintaining a poker face.  He couldn’t fight off the miniscule smile that made its way onto his face, however, as he muttered, “Anything at all it is.”

“Great!” his brother offered a toast with his empty wine glass, bumping Romano’s with his thumb.  “ _Cin cin!_ ”--Romano had to steady his pinot grigio from the overexcited force of the action--“I’m glad that’s settled!  Now, I have one thing to settle myself.”

Romano blinked.  “All of a sudden?  What do you-” Veneziano held his previously-forgotten phone up to his ear.  “Hey, what are you-”

“Hello, Germany?  Hi!” said the younger Italian, locking eyes with Romano, whose jaw promptly dropped.  “No, not really, I just wanted to know: I know you aren’t coming with us to Turin, but do you want to hang out afterwards?  You can stay the night!” He smiled, not once breaking eye contact. He didn’t even blink. “Your place is fine too. I just want to _see you_.”  That damn closed-lipped smile grew bigger with each word.

“Hmm?  Oh, that’s just Romano making gagging noises; don’t worry about him.”

Romano wasted no time mouthing _“fuck you”_ at his absolute little shit of a brother.

 _“Love you, too,”_ was the silent reply.

 

_“You mean you still haven’t heard anything about it?”_

The question repeated itself in Romano’s head that night.  He thought back to the times shortly after Spain had proposed, nights when he and his brother would stay up late and fantasize a dream wedding.  Venues, flower arrangements, _yes,_ _Veneziano, you can be a witness_ , even the fucking weather.  

And then a month passed, two months, half a year, and Romano stopped designing suits and cakes on his official documents.  He and Veneziano stopped talking and texting into the earliest hours of the morning. He stopped waiting for word from Spain, who truly hadn’t said anything about a wedding.  Actually, Spain hadn’t said much at all about anything.

For the first months, it was easier to tell himself that Spain wanted to differentiate their personal union from his former political ones.  But, dammit, it had been six months, almost seven by now and Romano’s fourth finger was very naked. He was bordering on devastation for a few weeks; every time he saw Spain at a meeting the absence of an accessory decorating his thin hand was so strong that he swore he could feel his finger throbbing.

Anyone could see that Veneziano was just as upset.  Romano closed his eyes and ran his hand down his face.  His brother had been looking forward to the ceremony even more than either fiancé was, he imagined.  This was something Veneziano had been wishing for for a very long time. Even in his earliest childhood memories, Romano could clearly hear his brother dreaming of the perfect wedding he would have one day, when he grew up and found the perfect partner.

At some point during their separation, Veneziano had given up on that dream.  And, whether or not it was selfish of his little brother, Romano wanted to let Veneziano live it out vicariously through him.  He was certain that he would have given up hope and broken things off by now otherwise.

That was a lie, and he knew it, but he preferred to act as if he wasn’t willing to wait for an eternity.

But now, his conversation with his brother from earlier in the day fresh in his mind, and a form-fitting tuxedo sketched in the margins of some trade agreement he was supposed to be reviewing, he felt a resurgence of determination.  This was his _wedding_ , dammit, and Veneziano’s dream or whatever, and like hell was he going to let anything take that away from either of them.

Maybe he really should call Spain.  The idiot was so dense, it was completely plausible that Veneziano was right and he had literally forgotten about his required contribution to the ordeal a while ago.  Which was really fucking rude, but Romano was used to Spain being like that. Dozens of missed dinners and _oh, I thought that was tomorrow_ s briefly played through his mind, and Romano briefly wondered what his past self would have said if he were told that he’d fall in love with such a bastard.

He glanced at his phone clock.  3 AM. Well, that had never stopped him before.

Pressing 3 on speed dial, he set his work aside for the night as the phone rang once, twice-

“ _¿Dígame?_ ” came the obviously groggy reply.

Well, might as well get right to the point.

* * *

“Hey, you bastard.”  Well, that was certainly Romano.  Spain relaxed upon hearing the familiar grumpy voice.

“Romano?  Hi! It’s been a while, hasn’t it!  How are you? It’s very late; is everything ok?”

“No, everything’s _not_ ok, asshole!”

Spain was sitting upright in an instant.  “What’s wrong?!”

“It’s been seven fucking months and you haven’t given me so much as a ring!”  Romano sounded quite tired as well, tired enough that Spain could hear the accusatory disappointment seeping into his tone.

Spain stiffened.  Ring? But why would Romano want a ring if…  Oh. Ring, like a phone call. Ring up. Give a ring.  Had it really been that long since he had called Romano?  Sure, he had been avoiding the younger man to an extent, but seven months?

“I’m sorry, Romano, I was going to call you soon, I swear!” he ran a hand through his mussed up hair, bracing himself for whatever fiery accusations were coming his way.

No accusations of the sort came.  Instead, Romano made a sound that got caught in the back of his throat.  “R...Really? You, so you’re saying you were waiting so we could do it together?”

“Huh?”  What kind of phone calls was this boy making?  “Is there any other way to do this besides together?”  Spain settled down onto his stomach, sensing a long conversation coming up.  The burgundy comforter slipped down his back as he pushed up on his elbows.

“Well,” the voice on the other end hesitated.  “Yes? I don’t know. That’s what I was expecting.”

“I mean I suppose I could leave you voicemails?”

Spain heard rustling; Romano must have climbed into bed.  “You really want my input on it that badly?”

Without needing to think, an immediate reply fell from the Spaniard’s lips.  “Of course! Why wouldn’t I? Your opinion is important to me!”

Romano mumbled something in Italian.  “In that case, I might as well just be next to you.”  
“That works too!”  Spain sat up a little, getting excited.  “Talking to you on the phone can never compare with talking to you in person!”

Was that a smile he heard?  Spain swore he heard a smile.  “ _Va bene_ , we’ll do it together.”

“Yes, together!” he vehemently agreed, nodding though he knew Romano could not see it.  “We’ll do it together. It’ll be great, so much fun! And,” the sentence trailed off into a confused silence.

It?  What was “it”?  Did Romano really think they could have had a conversation with only one of them present?  And on that note, wait, input? Opinion? Opinion on what? Maybe Spain did need to think more about the words coming out of their mouths.  Had Romano forgotten how conversation worked? What if he only ever spoke to Spain and Italy, and without the company of the former he had lost the ability to communicate?

“Romano,” he cautiously asked.  “Are you feeling alright?”

There was a disconcertingly long pause.  “Of course I am. I’m just a little tired of waiting around.  If that makes sense; I don’t want to pressure you or anything.”  Romano sounded as if he was carefully selecting every word. As if some thoroughly thought out ploy was out in the open, and as if he needed to explain himself and said ploy.

“Pressure me?  Why would I feel pressured?  You suddenly sound kind of worried.”

“Ohh,” Romano hummed, almost sarcastically.  “Since when did you become so versed in how other people are feeling?”

Spain chuckled at that.  Even on the phone, he could feel Romano’s half-hearted glare.  He could almost feel the sharp jab of an index finger on his arm.  Talking with Romano was such a familiar pastime, and truly one of his favorites.  In the moment, he was almost able to forget why he hadn’t done it in so long. “Boss’ intuition?”

“ _Ma che_ boss!  You’re no boss of mine!”

“Aww, not even a little bit?”

“What the fuck am I to you?” Romano snorted.  “Because if I’m still an underling in your mind then you should really rethink what you’re doing.”

Oh, yes, that’s why he hadn’t done it in so long.  For the God-knows-how-manyth time he bit back a hundred protests about how Romano was so much _more_ to him--his confidant, his best friend, his _everything_.  Instead, he laughed again.  It sounded a bit empty even to his own ears.  Shit, it was too early in the morning for him to put up a good front.

Romano must have picked up on that.  “Spain?”

Taking one deep breath, he tried once more to will himself to calm down and just _move on_ so that he and Romano could stay friends.  That’s what Romano wanted, right? Romano wouldn’t have been angry at Spain for not calling if that wasn’t what he wanted.  Spain was sure of that much.

“Spain!  Are you ok, dammit?!”

He just needed to let the butterflies that had nestled themselves at the bottom of his stomach loose.  To stop his heart from skipping every other beat when he and Romano locked eyes in passing. To not feel as if he had to tear his gaze away and deal with the following regret as he saw Romano’s face fall in his peripheral.  He didn’t know how much more he could take before his insides ripped themselves apart.

“H-Hey, you’re not really rethinking things, are you?  It was just a joke!”

“You know what you are to me,” said Spain, without even realizing it.

Romano’s voice sounded small, almost afraid, when he asked, “Did something happen, Spain?”

“What?”  No, his voice was still far too flat.  He needed to sound like everything was ok, for Romano’s sake.  The last thing he wanted to do was make Romano feel guilty for not returning his feelings.  “No, no, don’t worry, everything is fine! I’m fine.” He took one last deep breath. “But listen, it really is late and I have to be in Palma early tomorrow.  I’ll call you later, ok? Good night, sleep well!”

“Wait!” came the immediate objection.  Spain almost didn’t hear it, the phone already out of earshot and his finger hovering over the End Call button, his escape.  Romano must have yelled.

Spain debated pretending he hadn’t heard him and hanging up, before he ultimately returned the phone to his ear.  “What is it?”

“There’s,” Romano paused for a moment, most likely gathering his thoughts into a coherent sentence.  “My brother and I are going clubbing in Turin this weekend, and he wanted me to invite you too.”

“Oh, really?”  Ever the capricious mess at 3 in the morning, Spain instantly brightened again at the news.  Romano audibly groaned at the mental whiplash. “That’s great, Romano! You’re always talking about how much you wanted to join him in that.”

“If you tell him that I’ll never speak to you again!”  Spain swallowed. “Anyway, are you coming or not?”

Spain thought about it for a moment.  It had been seven months apparently, although it still felt more like seven days.  Seven years, maybe. Seven months of avoiding Romano, and he was still very much not over him.  Perhaps spending time with Romano was what he needed instead. “Yes, sure! That sounds like a lot of fun.  I’d love to accompany you two!”

“Ok, awesome.  I mean, I would have been fine either way,” ah, Romano was so cute, “but it’ll definitely be better with you there.”

Barely containing the unnaturally pitched squeal that escaped his lips, and earning another groan, Spain spewed out a few more almost-understandable words of excitement and thanks for the invitation.

“Go the fuck to bed; you make no sense when you’re tired.”

“You’re the one who called me!”

“Good night.”  With that, Romano ended the call.

Spain spent the next two hours too excited to sleep, and the following three mentally drafting an apology speech to his boss for how tired he would be the next day.

* * *

Romano felt much lighter after talking with Spain, and the lifted stress helped him fall asleep almost instantly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: You can tell what language two characters are conversing in because the foreign words that show up will be in the other language. So Spain and Romano's phone conversation in the second half of the chapter is in Spanish. (The exception is onomatopoeia because that's got a certain kick that I can't ignore lol)
> 
> Can you tell I currently live in Italy? Assisi is a town in the Umbria region of Italy, pretty near the middle of mainland Italy but still situated a little bit north. Basilicata is the far south region between the heel and toe of the boot. It's absolutely beautiful, but I've gotten the vibe that it's almost like the New Jersey of Italy (i.e. a common target of jokes), haha. If anything, that sort of reputation only makes you more proud. Turin is the capital of the Piemonte region, in northwest Italy. Lastly, Palma is the capital of the Balearic Islands in Spain, situated on the largest island, Majorca (Mallorca in Spanish).
> 
> Cin cin!: Cheers! (informal Italian)  
> ¿Dígame?: Hello? (Spanish)  
> Va bene: Okay (Italian)  
> Ma che: I don't really know how to explain it lol, it literally means "But what" but in this context it's kind of like "What the hell do you mean, absolutely not" (Italian)


	3. Chapter 3

Romano felt nothing if not out of place.  First off, there was too much going on. The music and clubbers were definitely conspiring to make him go deaf, and he could feel his heart involuntarily beating to a rhythm dictated by a subwoofer hidden somewhere in the room.  Some American song was blaring, something he had heard a million times through his car’s shitty radio. A few patrons were dancing impressively, while others were satisfied with simply jumping to the beat. Romano sure as hell wasn’t going to join either group.

He was all too aware of his stiff shoulders and avoidant gaze.  Next to Veneziano, already moving on the dance floor as if it was his sole purpose in life, Romano, glued to the bar, stuck out like a sore thumb.

Veneziano, in his loose sweater and tight jeans.  

If Romano were to take off his dress shirt, he would be far too plain in just a black tank.  But as he left it on, both he and the air felt incredibly stuffy.

Veneziano, who looked about set to pick up some girl as they eyed each other.  

If anyone was looking at Romano right now, he prayed for them to stop.  

Veneziano, who managed to somehow blend in perfectly and still be the fucking center of attention.

He knew he shouldn’t be complaining, since he was the one who heavily implied that his brother should invite him, but dammit, he had forgotten how _awkward_ clubbing could be.  Especially with his more charming, more popular, all-in-all better at this doppelganger no more than 10 meters away.

Looking at Spain, wearing something so similar to Romano but wearing it _so_ much better, didn't help his alienation.  He wore a pale yellow button down that Romano recognized as a Giorgio Armani his brother gifted him a few Christmases ago, left half open and with the sleeves rolled up past his elbows.  The cross necklace he always wore reflected the bright multi colored lights, painting rainbows on his face and in his equally bright eyes. The bounce of green light was Romano’s favorite, he decided; it highlighted the already present pear shades, warm and vibrant and otherworldly.  Like Spain.

He also seemed a little lost in regards to the crowded energy of the night club, but he was so carefree and gorgeous that even Romano thought he might have been mistaken.  After what felt to him like a few seconds of staring, but was definitely more akin to a few minutes, the Spaniard cast a glance in his direction from across the room. Romano saw him say something to France (who, honestly speaking, wasn’t the _worst_ person his brother could have invited), and then the next thing he knew the stool next to him was occupied by a bright smile with a man attached to it.

“This is fun!” he shouted over the music.  “It’s been a while since I’ve gotten to go out and have fun like this, and with you no less!”

Romano clicked his tongue.  “I’m just glad I’m not all alone here in the fucking corner.”

“Well, who said you had to stay in the corner?” came the relatively expected but still annoying response.

He couldn’t really go with _If I’m too close to my younger brother people will start comparing us_ , so the Italian settled for, “My dignity, that’s who.”

Spain pouted as he waved the bartender over for the drink.  “You could have fun if you tried!”

“Who said I wasn’t trying?”

His partner hesitated for a moment.  That was weird; Spain never hesitated to speak the first thing that came to his mind.  Especially when he was talking to Romano. Before he could make a comment, however, Spain answered, “Anyone with eyes?”

Romano shoved him, and revelled in the few seconds it took him to steady himself.  Even better, the bartender arrived at that exact moment. “ _Prego_.”

After saving himself from falling off the stool, Spain looked at Romano with bright expectant eyes.

“It’s not even that hard, Spain, you’re just fucking lazy!”

“And you’re my best friend who’s always there to help me in a pinch!”

Romano decided he would need a lot of alcohol to make it through the night.  “ _Prendiamo due sangria_.”

“ _Certo_.”  The bartender quickly brought the pair their drinks and retreated to the furthest corner of the bar.  A smart decision, Romano thought. He wondered if it was legal to join her back there.

He opened his phone for the 30th time to check the time, his messages, anything to make a little more of the evening pass.  Just like the previous 24 times, there was nothing new, leaving him with nothing to do but read the last conversation he had had with Spain again.  He couldn’t recall how many times he had done that so far.

 ** _Jerk <3_** _:_ _Hey hey hey_

 **_Jerk <3_ ** _: So last night i had a rly funny dream_

 **_Jerk <3_ ** _: Do u wanna hear it_

 **_Jerk <3_ ** _: ta b well here goes_

 **_Jerk <3_ ** _: b so you know how when you were younger we would go to town n shop?? It was that time like reaaaaally similar but i was alone and i was sad because like where’s romano???_

 **_Romano_ ** _: spain what the actual fuck_

 **_Jerk <3_ ** _: but then I FOUND U and you werent with me because you were running a stand and i think you were selling dictionaries but ur stand just said ‘Meanings 4 Sale’_

 **_Romano_ ** _: i am 2 minutes away from blocking you_

 **_Jerk <3_ ** _: so of course im gonna support my roma’s business so i go up to you and say ‘1 meaning pls’_

 **_Jerk <3_ ** _: And you_

 **_Jerk <3_ ** _: You ripped exactly 1 definition out of the book and handed it to me, then looked me directly in the eye and said ‘collect them all’_

 **_Romano_ ** _: SPAIN WHAT THE ACTUAL FUKC_

 **_Jerk <3_ ** _: jajaajjajjjaja i was so surprised i woke up_

 **_Romano_ ** _: dream me doing real me proud_

 **_Romano_ ** _: also can you speak spanish fucking normally i can barely understand you_

 **_Jerk <3_ ** _: jaja b_

 **_Jerk <3_ ** _: also when and where are we meeting_

 **_Romano_ ** _: 9 in piazza solferino_

 **_Romano_ ** _: dont be late this time_

 **_Jerk <3_ ** _: :D :D :D_

The Italian held back a smile.  Spain had arrived four minutes after Veneziano, who was on average about 5 minutes late.  Romano was 12 minutes late, though, so he once again couldn’t complain. He vaguely wondered if Germany could get his brother to be a reliable clock, before downing half of his drink in one go to banish that thought back to the hell it came from.

“Romano?!”  Spain suddenly exclaimed, making Romano jump.  Spain’s hands hovered a little over Romano’s shoulder and glass, as if he wasn’t sure if he should touch him.  “Hey, you can’t drink so fast like that! You might choke, or get sick, or--”

“You don’t need to worry about me, idiot, I’m old enough to handle my alcohol.”  Spain didn’t look convinced, however, and under the scrutiny of those concerned, intense, fucking _beautiful_ eyes, Romano knew that he wasn’t going to last much longer before he did something really embarrassing in public.  Fuck, he wished he could escape.

He couldn’t leave first; that would only lead to Veneziano never inviting him out again.  But he was a fish out of water, a tomato in this fruit salad of a club. He walked into the room the more rotten of a pair of cherries, and now he was sitting next to the shiniest orange in the world.  And no, he wouldn’t trade that company for anything, but he was all too aware of his own existence, and he could feel every hair on the back of his neck, and Spain’s gaze in his own, and he was definitely going to explode.

He finished off the rest of his glass, ignoring the Spanish yelp that accompanied it.  Screw a lot of alcohol. He was going to need the whole storehouse to make it through the night.

* * *

Spain ran his fingers along the scalp resting on his lap.  Romano lay sprawled out on the lounge couch, slowly expanding his leg room at France’s expense.  His cheeks were tinted pink from alcohol. It was a bit fuzzy how they had ended up in their current position, or how many sangrias they had had between the two of them.  Based on the evidence laying on his thighs, Spain was confident that Romano drank more than him.

Italy had left a while ago, saying something about heading to Berlin for the weekend, and how he would tell Romano all about the fun they’d have, and “you should loosen up a bit, _fratellone._ ”  This made Romano go red in the face with a mix of anger and what looked like embarrassment, and Spain then found himself dragged over to the dance floor.

Romano seemed determined to ignore the world and anything that could be happening in it, and Spain was all too happy to offer that distraction.  The two danced for what must have been hours. The songs blended together and every time Spain thought to himself that this would be the last one, the next one was halfway through before he even knew it.  There were hands on hips and in hair, and under the influence of the alcohol and the music and _Romano_ , he had no grasp on what belonged to who.

Eventually, it grew too warm, and they made their way to the lounge.  The blaring sounds of the DJ system mellowed into a slightly-too-loud drone, and the crowd lessened into something much more manageable.  Romano had discarded his red dress shirt a while back to combat the heat. Spain wasn’t sure which of Romano’s looks he preferred (France always said that when in doubt, go for bare shoulders, but Romano looked so _classy_ in that shirt).  He looked down at the glassy eyes below him.  “What’s this about a party all of a sudden?”

“It’s not sudden,” Romano countered.  “With half a workload, I have a lot of time to think about this stuff.  This is an important ceremony for you too, isn’t it?”

Spain blinked.  An important ceremony for him?  Spain couldn’t think of anything that he was supposed to be celebrating anytime soon.  Romano was saying a lot of weird things lately. First their debate about whether or not one-sided phone calls existed, and now conceptualizing parties out of thin air.  

He was growing pretty concerned over the past few days.  Normally, Romano’s mood was relatively easy to pinpoint, and then it was relatively easy to act accordingly.  If he was angry, Spain had learned to stick around but keep his mouth shut. When sad or stressed out, Romano liked to be active, so they’d spend the day out in one of their gardens.  The days Romano was in a good mood, well, those were the days Spain would talk about anything and everything. Now, though, he hadn’t the foggiest idea what Romano was feeling or what he was supposed to do.

Romano didn’t _seem_ angry or upset--at least not with Spain--but his behavior was just so… _weird_.  And so, the Spaniard found himself walking on eggshells, unsure of if saying or doing the wrong thing would somehow set the other off.  In this situation, he decided that the safest answer would be, “Well, if it’s important to you, it’s important to me, Romano.”

“It damn well better be important to you!  You’re the reason we’re doing this in the first place.”

Well, that was news.  Was Spain also losing his grip on the real world?  Was Spain also saying things that didn’t make sense and then promptly forgetting he ever said it?  Or did Romano come up with this on the spot too? Was this a phase? Was Romano going through a phase?  Spain didn’t think that denying the actualities of life was a regular phase. And even it it was, the Italian already had his paladin phase!

Oh, unless, did Romano mean his birthday?  He never really remembered when that was supposed to be.

“Okay,” he stuttered out, still a little unsure of if he had guessed correctly.

Romano looked up at him incredulously.  “O... ‘okay?’ Yeah, no shit ‘okay.’” It was a standard level of _I think your default setting is stupid_ for Romano, so Spain let his shoulders relax again.  He hadn’t even realized they had stiffened. “It would have to be in Spain,” the Italian continued to muse.

“Um,” Spain blinked down.  “Yes? Where else would it be, Germany?”

That suggestion earned him a lazy headbutt to the stomach.  France cackled a little. “Ew, fuck, no! It’s bad enough that he’s out getting seduced by my brother as we speak; I don’t need him interfering with _my_ personal life too.”

“Wait, wait, back up, what?!”  Spain practically shouted, causing Romano to jump and France to laugh harder.  “You mean-- _ta gueule, France_ \--you mean they weren’t doing it already?”

France waved away the middle finger directed at him.  “Prussia would not be happy to hear you scandalize his precious baby brother like that.”  A throaty chuckle. “I commend our little Italian for being grounded in reality.”

Spain bit back his comment about Romano having been in some far-off, alternate reality as of late.  “I guess, but Italy's slept with almost-”

“If you finish that thought, I’ll gut you!”  Their little Italian assaulted Spain’s abdomen once more, and kicked France as well for good measure.  “Wait, baguette-for-brains I can assume, but Spain, _you_ haven’t, no, I mean, have you?”

Spain took a sip of his margarita, letting the sting of the alcohol wash over his tongue before swallowing.  “I want a big event just as much as you do, Romano, maybe even more, but I don’t think I can afford it right now.”

Romano seemed to accept his scapegoat change of subject, but his face shifted into an expression that Spain couldn’t pinpoint.  It looked equal parts pensive and disappointed, and a third, indescribable emotion. Spain felt his heart drop along with Romano’s energy.

“I’m, I’m so sorry, Romano, I’ll make it up to you.  We can have a small celebration, together! As long as you’re there that’s enough!”  The Spaniard prayed that he wasn’t going to upset Romano further, and he knew that he probably shouldn’t be spouting his affections so recklessly, but he was too tipsy to care.

“Is that why you haven’t bought,” Romano began, but was interrupted by a tequila-induced hiccup.  He looked up at Spain with his wide, unfocused eyes. There was hope in them, which Spain found a little strange of an emotion to have when discussing your financial hardships.

Either way, Spain hadn’t bought a lot of things recently.  “Yeah, times are tough right now, y’know? I feel like I’m always on the brink of a cold, haha.”

“You idiot, you should have said something!”  Romano sat up abruptly, bashing into Spain’s chin in the process.  The Italian didn’t seem to notice or care, but Spain’s jaw certainly did.  “I can handle the, I mean, it’s for me too, I don’t expect you to take care of everything!”

“Romano, no!”  Spain firmly held onto the other’s shoulders.  “I’m the reason any of this needs to be done in the first place; you shouldn’t have to pay for any of it!”  Ah, but really, Spain was so lucky to know someone as generous as Romano. His feelings of pure awe and affection had surely leaked onto his face.

“But-”

“No buts!  We’ll do what we can, ok?  Or we can wait. You shouldn’t expend your funds either.”

Romano didn’t seem ready to budge, though, and while Spain would have normally given into that defiant glare, the thought of Romano using his own money for someone else’s birthday party wasn’t appealing at all.  So, he held firm with his own stare, one that challenged Romano to try to say anything else about the matter.

They must have remained like that, with locked gazes and gritted teeth, for minutes.  Eventually Romano was leaning in closer, certainly to bite Spain’s nose in indignation or some other weird Romano habit, but their staring contest was interrupted by a voice from the side.  “Romano, darling, please remove your foot from my face.”

Romano grunted and drew his leg back in towards himself.  “A year. You have a year to figure things out, or I’ll figure them out for you.”

Well, he supposed that was that.  And yes, Spain’s birthday was going to happen again in a year, so that made sense.  “Deal.”

The Italian firmly nodded.  “Ok, yes, thank you.” He bit his lip, before averting his gaze and adding, “ _Topo._ ”

France blinked in surprise, but if something was on his mind, he didn’t say anything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhhh, it took way longer than I would have liked to write this chapter! It was supposed to hold a lot of drunken goofs and gags, but it ended up more of an establishing scene. I don't know, I hope it worked out in the end, haha.
> 
> Here's the translation notes for this chapter!  
> Prego: In this context, it means "What can I get you?" (Italian)  
> Prendiamo due sangria: We'll have two sangrias (Italian)  
> Certo: Certainly (Italian)  
> Ta b: Está bien, which in turn means ok (Spanish)  
> Fratellone: Big brother (Italian)  
> Ta gueule: Shut up (French). This is a super rude way to say it, so use it with caution!  
> Topo: Mouse (Italian). It's a term of endearment; topolino is more cutesy, but since Spain is older that didn't make much sense to me.


	4. Chapter 4

February, 2007

Spain rocked back on his heels as he stared out at the Alameda.  His eyes followed the lights from the square and surrounding buildings as they bounced off the thin layer of water from the morning’s sunshower, reflecting onto the columns where a group of tourists were taking a picture.  The sounds of jazz could be faintly heard from a venue on the other side of the square over the chatter of the people. His urge to go over and check it out was strong, but he opted to stay where he was and enjoy it from afar.  The last thing he wanted to do was be late.

Italy had asked him to come to the bar near the old building that they used to use for meetings in Seville.  No, more like ordered him to come. It was rare for the boy to be so insistent through tone alone, so Spain thought it was in his best interest to not question the sudden demand.

He had asked Romano if he knew anything about the matter, but the older Italian only offered a cheeky smile and an, “I don’t know, I guess you’ll just have to go and see.”  Which wasn’t exactly convincing, but Spain could never turn Romano down, and if Romano wanted Spain to accept his brother’s ominous invitation, then by God, he was going to accept it.

Really, though, why did Italy want to meet him in private all the way over in Seville?  There were plenty of closer cities where they could have met in the middle. For him to go so out of his way just for a chat at a bar, even if they had frequented the area many times, was there something Spain wasn’t understanding properly?

“Oh, Spain!  You’re early,” he heard a little ways behind him, pulling him from his thoughts.  He turned to see Italy jogging over to him, struggling to catch his breath.

Spain, not surprised that Italy was late to his own event but still unsure of what was going on, exchanged greetings with him as he recomposed himself.  “Hey! Sorry if it’s a problem; you just made it sound like it was really important.”

“It _is_ important!” the redhead stated a little forcefully.  He clutched Spain’s hands in his own for emphasis, before promptly dropping them again with a small groan.  “But I told Germany that the party started at 10:30 so he wouldn’t get here before me, and now _you’re_ here before me so Germany’s obviously not here yet, and I was hoping that I could use his big tall muscles to help me set everything up but I guess that’s not happening anymore and--”

“Set everything up?” Spain echoed.  “You mean, this isn’t a shady business meeting?”

Italy blinked.  “What?” Spain couldn’t help but laugh at his dumbfounded expression.

“You asked me to come down to somewhere that we never go to anymore!  Look, there’s an abandoned building right there!” The old meeting hall had been renovated into a hostel, far from abandoned, but that was beyond the point.  “Ah, I should have worn suspicious sunglasses. Talk about a missed opportunity, no?”

Italy let out a small chuckle himself once it sunk in that Spain was joking with him.

“No, but really, what do you mean by ‘set everything up’?”

Veneziano hummed.  “I guess if you’re here, there’s nothing we can do about it.  Come on!”

The next thing Spain knew, he was being dragged inside by the elbow.  He marveled both at Italy’s surprisingly strong grip and at this new phenomenon of being invited to bars by Italians.  Really, what a dream.

“We were going to yell ‘surprise!’ here--well, Germany probably wasn’t going to, and I don’t image Austria would have either, and I’m still not entirely sure if the Netherlands is even coming but if he does then he also doesn’t seem like the kind to--ahh, I’m getting totally off topic!  We weren’t expecting you yet so I guess what we have has to be surprise enough, is what I was getting at.”

Spain was too occupied with the surprise in front of him to process Italy’s tangent.  The beginnings of what was supposed to be a party setting could be seen in the back corner, in an area that was blocked off from the rest of the venue.  Belgium waved enthusiastically from where she was sneaking a few chips upon noticing his arrival. The bar didn’t seem too different from how it was normally set up, an attestant to Italy’s obscure scheduling, but it was definitely supposed to be a party.

It seemed that Spain’s long-awaited birthday party had finally been realized.

France followed Belgium’s line of sight, and sauntered over to the pair in the doorway with a smile.  Prussia wasn’t there yet--if Italy was to lie to one German he’d have to lie to both, Spain figured. Hungary was making a fuss somewhere out of sight, and Austria’s just-visible face grew more and more anxious with each passing moment.  It warmed Spain’s heart to see old friends coming out to celebrate with him.

Some other faces were among the crowd as well, some expected and some not.  Thailand seemed to be discussing something quite fervently with Pakistan, and he thought he saw Mauritania pass in front of the strange floating polar bear for a moment.  Even Russia was glancing around the room, silently but happily, offering an awkward smile when their eyes met. For whatever reason, this birthday must have been an important one (how old was he?), as everyone went out of their way to come.

Everyone except Romano, that was.

Spain shook his head.  No, it was early. He wasn’t even supposed to be here yet himself.  Ignoring the fact that Italy didn’t come with his brother in tow, there were plenty of reasons why Romano wouldn’t be here yet.  Spain shouldn’t be jumping to conclusions. Romano was coming.

“No?”

Spain blinked out of his thoughts and looked in the direction of the voice that had spoken to him.  “What?”

Italy looked at him pensively for a moment.  “I asked if you were surprised. Did Romano spill the beans?  I _told_ him that he can’t get carried away and spoil things!”

“No, no he didn’t say anything.  I’m surprised; sorry, I was just distracted by something.”

“Again?” Veneziano exchanged a look with France--well, he tried to, but it didn’t seem like he and France were on the same page.  “My brother says you’ve been out of it for a long time now. I know I’m not Romano or anything, but you can tell me if something’s wrong!  If you, if you don’t like it. I promise I won’t cry,” he said, tears already pricking at his eyes.

Italy’s puppy dog face melted Spain’s worries into an indiscernible mush, and he quickly patted the boy’s shoulder.  “I love it! Really, this is great. It’s really good to be able to celebrate my birthday with you guys.”

“Your birthday?”

“ _Mon dieu!_ ” France chimed in, patting both of them on the back at once.  “What a convenient blessing this is.”

“What?”  Italy looked up at France’s somewhat insistent smile, before he brightened up himself.  “Oh, yeah! That’s actually really convenient! Ok, I’m gonna double down on decorations since this is a double party now!”  And with that, he turned and pranced into what looked like a storage closet, but not before looking back and adding, “Also, uh, I lied.  Romano’s the one who told me to not get carried away.”

Spain wondered aloud what the second celebration was, or he thought he did, but it must have been silent, because France didn’t offer any explanation.  They ordered a couple drinks on France and made their way to the space reserved for their group.

“Spain.”  The pair turned around to find Britain, of all people, with an uncomfortable yet determined look on his face.  France stared him down, though he made no move to antagonize the other. He coughed, eyes focusing on every spot that was almost Spain’s face but not quite.  “Yes, um, I just wanted to congratulate you on the momentous step you’re taking.”

“Huh, what was that?” Spain chuckled amiably.  “I don’t see how this time is any more momentous than the others.”  He sat, and France settled down next to him. Britain made no move to make himself comfortable; Spain could only assume that this conversation would not go far beyond the usual formalities.

“Well, I suppose I didn’t expect you to be the one to take this step towards,” the blond paused, seemingly trying to organize his thoughts concisely.  “Towards something more personal. And South Italy, of all people, for him to work for it too, well.” He stopped mid-sentence upon seeing Spain’s eyebrows furrow slightly.

“Romano paid for this?”  _Damn it, Romano_ , Spain said he would take care of it.  He couldn’t really be angry at him for throwing him a birthday party, but he couldn’t imagine the other’s spending money being considerably more than his own.  If Romano was using money he needed on something like this, Spain wasn’t sure if he would be able to face him later.

It was just his birthday, an arbitrary national day he chose to take on personally when his fellow European nations adopted the trend in the mid-19th century.  It hadn’t been a big deal to him, since he hadn’t felt as if his sovereignty was at risk in a long time. It wasn’t like Belgium, who had lived in the shadow of him, France, even her brother, for so long that she had July 21st marked on her calendar in bright pink ink.  Nor was it like Italy, who had been on top of the world and then was dragged down by his neighbors, who clung to March 17th as if his brother and his unity would disappear should he lose it. For Spain, it was just a day to throw a party.

For _him_ to throw a party.  Not Romano. If he couldn’t, there didn’t have to be a party.  It wasn’t a big deal, and he didn’t understand why everyone else suddenly seemed to think so.

“Actually,” Britain interrupted his thoughts in an amused tone, “Italy was the one who sent out the invitations, and he asked everyone to help pay for the venue in place of traditional gifts.  So I suppose you could say that everyone except Romano paid for it.”

“Oh,” Spain laughed simply, as he wasn’t sure whether his assumption or reality was worse.

Strong, turtleneck-clad arms found their way around his and France’s shoulders from behind, making him flinch slightly at the sudden weight.  “Damn, Spain, I didn’t take you as the kind who’d expect your man to pay for it himself. Are you that cheap nowadays?”

“Prussia,” Spain greeted through gritted teeth.   _Could you not rub it in?_

Britain said something about needing to speak to Germany about something and headed off, but it was hard to hear over the shouts of discomfort and complaints as Prussia hopped over the loveseat and sandwiched himself between the two already there.

“Spain, dude, congrats.  I haven't said anything yet, well I guess I didn't because I didn't know.  But that's pretty damn awesome. Getting back in there.”

France must have seen the guest of honor’s confused and uncomfortable expression and squeezed Prussia’s elbow in warning.

Prussia paid it no heed.  “It’s about time, too. You’ve been hung up on Romano for  _ever_ ; we all needed a development!”

“A _development_?”  Ah, that came out much harsher than he had intended, if Prussia’s quiet “oof” was anything to go by.  France’s arm made its way around his shoulders, offering a much more comforting squeeze than the albino was permitted.  Spain took a deep breath. “No, no I’m sorry, Prussia. There’s just, I mean nothing’s changed, y’know? There’s no developments.”

“I,” Prussia tried to begin, but he was unable to move beyond that first word.

Spain apologized again.  “Don’t worry about it, yeah?  I shouldn’t be snapping at you when you all came out of your way here for me.  Romano will do enough of that when he gets here,” he added, hoping to lighten the mood.

Prussia opened his mouth to say something, but France beat him to it.  “Prussia, darling, could you give us a moment? Maybe go check on your brother.  It looks like Italy’s making himself very comfortable.”

Whether France’s words or his strained smile was what convinced Prussia to take his advice, so baseless that even Spain could tell it was an excuse, he didn’t know.  Regardless, he complied, offering a closed smile as if to say “no hard feelings.” Spain mirrored the gesture.

“Thanks, I think,” he said, after the albino had departed.

France squeezed his shoulder once more.  “You looked like you were going to apologetically maul the poor man if he didn’t stop talking soon.  I have to look out for both of you.”

Spain nodded and turned his body more towards his friend.  “I know we can count on you, my friend.” France pressed his lips into a thin line.  Spain took a deep breath. “He’s not coming, is he.”

“Who?”

“France,” he pleaded.  “I know you’re trying to protect me, but I’m going to know eventually whether you tell me or not.”

France stared at him for a long minute.  “No, he’s not coming. He was never planning to come.”

“He can’t come!  It’s against the rules!”

The two jumped once more at another unexpected couch companion.  Italy had, if France was being truthful before, pried himself off of Germany to check on his guest of honor.

Spain found himself unable to speak, but managed to make an expression that conveyed his emotion of genuinely-confused-as-to-the-social-restrictions-that-would-prevent-Romano-from-coming.  Italy took the hint with an excited hum. “It’s the rules! Tradition! Romano can’t come to your party, and you wouldn’t be able to go to his if he hadn’t already said he didn’t want one.”

The redhead babbled on excitedly, but Spain was too baffled that Italian breakup protocol was so strict and in depth to this day (no, they hadn’t been dating.  He needed to remember that) to pay much attention. Casual nights out were ok, but organized parties were taboo? How long did that rule last? Did it extend to parties that they didn’t host?  If Italy hosted a joint party with Romano, would the former allow him to come, or would the latter forbid it? God, he never realized how complicated this would make everything. Romano enjoyed the stability of tradition, so if his more unconventional brother cared, Romano must _really_ care.

“He’ll be fine, do not worry.”

The Spaniard’s gaze shot over to France as his ears picked back up on the conversation.  “What?”

“You’ll be fine.”

“You’ll be fine?” Italy echoed.

“Eeh.”  He glanced between the two of them; both seemed concerned, but Italy appeared to be weirded out, while France looked almost nervous.  “Yeah. I’ll be fine.”

France patted their host on the head.  “See? There is nothing to worry about.”

Italy nuzzled up into his hand, although he threw Spain another weird look at the same time.  “If you’re sure. I saw a drugstore nearby, so if you need anything just let me know. I’ll get it to you as soon as I can--”

From somewhere across the bar, they vaguely heard Prussia yell, “I’m gonna jump out of the fucking cake!”

“--as soon as I save the food from destruction!”  For the second time that evening, the Italian ran off as quickly as he came.

“Drugstore?  What did you say to him?”

The blond replied with a hum and a shrug.  “Just that you were feeling lightheaded. Nip it in the bud, no?”

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re chasing everybody away from me,” Spain weakly laughed.  Even if he wasn’t lightheaded, he didn’t protest when France guided his head closer to rest. It was comforting.

France reached up to fiddle with dark curls.  “Is it bad to want you to myself for a little while?”  His eyebrows furrowed slightly, laced with concern and a vague sense of conflict.  “You hanging in there?”

Spain nodded against the other’s shoulder.  “I just get reminded of it at the worst times.”

“ _It_ being the fact that he rejected you?”  Another slow nod. “Spain, I understand how you feel, believe me, but it has been a year.  If he wants to remain friends but keep his distance, that’s fine, but your best option in my opinion is to reciprocate that distance.  At least until you stop thinking about it.”

“What if I never stop, though?”

“You might not.  I’ve never stopped loving someone.”  Spain felt a soft kiss pressed to his temple.  “I only want you to be happy.”

Spain raised his head slightly to study the Frenchman’s face, and was met with an intense sky gaze that insisted _I want to be there for you_.

He had been there 300 years ago, when their own engagement fell apart by force, torn to shreds by Britain and Austria.  They clung to each other the night the treaty was signed, and as he waved him off his undershirt was stained with the tears and desperation of crushed hopes, but his ears rang with the reassurance that France had left him with.

He was there last year, when this whole mess had started.  After dragging himself away from his secret corner of the countryside, he found himself at France’s doorstep rather than his own.  France had invited him in and listened to him vent until he was tripping over words with no clear direction in sight. Then he lightened the mood with soft jokes and warm hugs and everything Spain could have asked for in his time of distress.

And he was here again now, swatting away uncomfortable conversation like he was completing an escort mission in those survival horror video games that Romano loved to play.  “I know. I appreciate it.” He let out the sigh that had plagued him and plastered a smile onto his face. “Thank you, France. I really couldn’t ask for a better friend than you.”

France let out his own soft sigh of something left unsaid, though he quickly muffled it with a second kiss, this time aimed at his hand.  “Nor I you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally the "hey it's France here we are establishing him as an important character" chapter that took 4 months to write because I forgot to think it through before I started writing
> 
> I hope it was worth the wait :')
> 
> La Alameda is a garden square in Seville with a considerable surrounding nightlife. I've also read that it has a nice amount of gay bars and similar establishments, so it seemed like a good setting for this scene.


End file.
